Sonnet CLXVII
When at confession by thy knee I kneel,
I must reveal a thousand sins to hate,
With scarce a virtue as a counterweight,
To poise the groaning burden which I feel.
If thou shouldst turn thy heavenly face, and seal
Thy hopeful eyes against my hopeless state,
I would accept the justice of my fate,
And from thy purer presence meekly steal.
But to find mercy ever in thine eyes,
Forerunning pardon, as the dawn the day,
And smiling gently at my sin’s array,
Is such a grace as the divine surprise
Of heaven descending upon one who lies
In awful wonder passing from the clay.
